


Sweet Dreams

by Unicorn (Jensee)



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pre-Poly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-02-22 20:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23600197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jensee/pseuds/Unicorn
Relationships: Mark Bryant/Damien, Samantha Barnes/Mark Bryant
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kuchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchi/gifts).



“Hey” Damien says, when Mark opens his eyes next to him.

“Hey,” he responds.

Damien is sprawled on the bed, angled towards Mark, completely naked save for the sheet covering him from the waist down. He’s openly looking at Mark, expression hesitant but relaxed, like he knows that he’s safe, that he can relax an let the tide roll in.

It’s a sight Mark has found himself entirely unable to resist, and when he lowers himself down to kiss those thin, trembling lips, Damien only arches gently into him, all too happy to entrust himself in his arms.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

* * *

There is something to be said about Mark’s own obliviousness. The first time it happened, he didn’t think of it as more than a dream. Why would he have thought anything different, really, is the poor excuse he uses on himself. How could he have suspected that Damien, open an helpless, crying in his lap, could be anything but a dream, when he’d only before suspected Damien’s iron mask was an armour. He hadn’t thought anything of putting his arms around Damien, relieved even in a dream, to finally pierce this hardened shell, and similarly hadn’t resisted his impulse to kiss him when the other man had looked up at him with such a open, needy expression.

Damien hadn’t resisted, kissing clumsily back and whining low in his throat as he griped Mark’s arms: too tight but still sweet.

How could it have been anything but a dream?

* * *

Damien lets himself be pushed down into the mattress by Mark’s body, and even brings his arms around Mark’s head, sinking further into the kiss, almost bold in the way he tentatively licks into Damien’s mouth. His taste is intoxicating, surprisingly so, and Mark has found he has a hard time ripping himself away from it, but it’s too tempting to follow the slanted jaw offered to him, and the skin under his lips jumps as Damien lets out a strangled moan.

“Mark”, he says, his low bass sounding cracky and broken.

Mark kisses him again.

* * *

Mark feels like he could have been excused for the first time. Could have pretended the strange hitch he’s had as Damien melted in saccaded motion in his arms was a simple awe at the hunger of his own dream. But it would have been a good time to stop, a good time to take a step back and consider what he was doing, what was happening.

He hadn’t.

* * *

Damien starts whispering under his breath everytime Mark leaves his mouth to pepper the rest of his skin with kisses. He pushes and pulls at Mark’s skin, trying to get him ever closer to him, to grind his hard cock against him, make both their desire known and acted upon.

“Come on, Mark, please” he ends up saying, and Mark’s heart stutter because starting to loudly thump at his ribs.

He shouldn’t say no. He should resist, draw back and explain himself. Let the reality of the situation wash over Damien and let him pull his armor back on. He tries to entangle himself from the man and Damien blinks at him slowly, eyes batting in a slow an languorous rhythm, his mouth red and bruised from their kissing, the beginning of a bruise forming on his collarbone. He looks boneless and open, ready to let Mark do anything to him, surrender his body and his will to him.

He looks fragile, more so than Mark has ever seen him awake, too thin and with too much desperation in his eyes. He looks like he could be Mark’s.

Mark’s determination stumbles and fizzles out, and the hand he runs over Damien’s tights curls easily over the soft skin, bringing them closer.

A rare, shy smile graces Damien’s lips.

* * *

Despite everything; despite the pit of guilt in his stomach at the thought of what he’s doing to Sam by simply allowing this to be happening; despite the gnawing feeling in his stomach that’s screaming at him this isn’t normal, Mark doesn’t do anything to discourage the dreams.

Dreams.

Ah.

Right.

He ignores the fact that he remembers every single inch of skin he’s roamed with his hands, every single moan he’s managed to wrangle out of Damien’s mouth, the fact that he wakes up sweaty and tired, but warm, contented, as if he’d simply transported himself from that imagined bed to his own. He ignores it all because that would be leaving behind a Damien who doesn’t feel the need to torture them both, who doesn’t feel the need to pull on his armor and his airs. Leaving behind the illusion that this is in any way normal.

Nothing is ever normal in Mark’s life. Not anymore.

* * *

Damien opens easily. His legs are shyly but readily spread, with a blush high on his cheeks, and Mark feels his fingers easily sink into him, drawing gasps and stuttering breaths out of him. Mark is pretty sure dream logic would let him sink his cock in Damien with no preparation at all, but he enjoys the time it takes, any and all seconds he gets to spend with the man while he demands touches rather than rejects them.

* * *

Mark should feel ashamed of himself. He does, a distant, far away ache that reminds him he’s still held up to a promise to Sam. If he were to visit anyone’s dreams, shouldn’t it be hers? Shouldn’t he seek her comforting, steady presence, rather than the one of a flighty, aggressive man who once already showed how far his dumbassery could go?

But there’s something liberating to the dreams, even beyond the fact that they cover some of Mark’s guilt still.

They belong in this strange, sheltered place, where the real world - where life as a complicated swirl of conflicting emotions – doesn’t quite reach. The Damien Mark visits in dreams doesn’t need his armor as he does in the real world, he only cares about enjoying the fleeting enjoyment of lavish, soft dreams.

In dreams, there is no consequence to be had, there is nothing to pull them away from the cocoon of warmth and love they have accidently created.

* * *

Mark drives into Damien like the tide, taking his time despite the urgent pull at his shoulders and arms. He savours every inch of skin, every breath and moans he tears away from Damien. Damien whines and threatens - demands - but Mark enjoys making his breaths stutter and interrupting his hissed reclamation with well-aimed thrusts of his hips, until his partner is reduced to a panting, whimpering mess as Mark makes love to him, like he only admits to wanting in this out of time place.

They come together, tangled in one another in a perfect way: only possible outside of reality. Damien sighs contentedly as Mark drags him in his arms, none of the uncomfort they would normally feel keeping them from savouring the moment.

* * *

The light in Damien’s dream is dim, a coccon of warm and delicate touches, sharp angles smoothed out by sleep and repeated moments of softness. There’s nothing but them, the sound of their breath slowly wheezing in and out of their lungs, and the quietness of contentment.

“Mark,” Damien says quietly

Mark responds with an interrogative noise, ready to let himself fall into a deeper, dreamless sleep, with the illusion of Damien’s warmth against him.

“I called Sam.”


	2. Chapter 2

Mark wakes up with a jolt in his tiny bed of the tour bus. For an instant, it feels like every other time he woke up in this position, with a lingering warmth in his heart and wetness shamefully spreading between his thighs; and then he suddenly remembers Damien’s words.

* * *

Sam doesn't seem particularly surprised to be called at – _shit_ , Mark thinks as he finally has the presence of mind to look at the clock – three in the morning. She sounds almost worryingly calm, in fact, at the prospect of her maybe sort of past-slash-future boyfriend cheating on her with her worst enemy through magic dreams.

God, Mark misses normal life.

“When did you know?” She asks, her voice void of the ripples of anger he was expecting.

“It wasn’t… I was sure by the third time.” Mark admits, lamely.

She stays silent for a few, excruciatingly longs seconds.

“Aren’t you angry?” Mark finally stutters out.

“He isn’t making you, is he? He said he wasn’t, but-“

“ _No_!” Mark cuts her off before the underlying panic in her voice can reach higher, horrified at the idea. “No. I don’t know if it’s the dream or- well, the brain damage but, I can’t feel any of it in the dreams, so… He’s… not.”

Sam takes a second, but the next words are low and dangerous, sighed with a sorrowful tone.

“What about you?”

Mark feels so, so cold.

“No! I mean- I don’t- No!”

Did he? He’d assume he was invading Damien’s unconsciousness, but was he bending his will as well? The very notion makes his stomach roll with disgust.

“He said he didn’t think you were either.” Sam says, her voice still blank and emotionless.

“Oh.”

 _That was cruel, Sam_ , he thinks, a bit dizzy with relief.

But then again, he probably deserves it.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“What? Aren’t _you_ breaking up with me?”

Sam huffs a laugh, the tight hold she’s so far had on her composure seemingly broken, her tone heavy with repressed tears.

“I should, shouldn’t I? I don’t want to? But I guess that’s what you do when… when your boyfriend cheats on you?”

Mark has to take a breath, repress the sobs that want to tear their way out of his throat.

“I love you,” he whispers, and hates himself for it.

Sam sighs, tight and wheezing.

“I know, but… you love Damien too. You do, right? Because- _he_ \- he loves you, you know that, right? I mean, do you know why he called me? He called me because he was concerned, for _you_. I don’t think he even really gets what’s wrong with all this.” She sounds sad. Resigned. He doesn't if it's because of what he did or a result of Damien's apathy “You shouldn’t have done that, Mark.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not- listen, you should talk to him. I’ll give you his number and you talk to him, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Sam. Are we… what’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

* * *

“Why did you do it?”

Damien’s dreamscape isn’t much clearer than it usually is, but he’s wearing a dark t-shirt that covers both his arms, and pooled around his waist are his sheets, kept taunt by the white knuckled grip he has on them. He looks real in a way he never quite does : guarded and ready to lash out, an animal bleeding sluggishly to its death and all the more dangerous for it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

Mark locks his jaw.

“I shouldn’t have kept it up when I realized it was real.”

Damien seems to mull this over for an instant. Mark wonders how much he’s talked to Sam, how far Damien has progressed toward processing feelings, and suddenly feels guilty he didn’t try to find that out sooner.

How did it happen that Sam understands Damien better than he does? The notion awakes a flurry of conflicted emotions in him: jealousy, relief, shame, hope…

Fear.

What did they say about him?

Shouldn’t they be more angry about this? The both of them?

Do they simply think this is one more result of him being the broken shadow of a man, destroyed by torture and trauma, the action of someone too broken to really hold any responsibility?

“Then why didn’t you? Stop, I mean.”

Mark’s mouth feels dry as Damien finally looks at him, eyes burning with someone he can’t quite decipher. It’s not anger; but it has the accent of that desperation he remembers from the few talks Damien and him had managed to have.

“Because I… didn’t want to.”

Mark can feel his stomach churn with distaste at his own answer, but Damien’s only reaction is to look at him even more intensely, if that is even possible.

“Why?”

Mark looks confusedly at Damien, but he’s only met with those searching eyes, desperate for something he can’t quite parse.

“I just… I didn’t want to lose it. What we had with” – he gestures lamely to their etheral surroundings- “this.”

Damien looks shocked for an instant, his hands spasming around the handful of sheets he’s been torturing. Then he seems to deflate, and looks away suddenly, his hair falling back on his face, almost obscuring Mark’s view of him. But under the curtain of hair, he’s… smiling?

“Damien?”

“Kiss me.”

“I- what?”

“Kiss me.” Damien is back to looking head on at him, his shoulders slightly hunched, but his expression slightly less wary than it had been previously. He’s red in the face but his eyes, focused on Mark, are determined. “Please?”

“Are you sure?”

Damien rolls his eyes, but Mark can see the shadow of a smirk on his lips, and it looks almost as fond as it is mocking.

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t, would I?”

Mark looks dumbfoundedly at him for an instant. But when Damien cocks an eyebrow in a challenging come on, he goes willingly.

The kiss is a bit awkward at first - Mark too far away to properly angle his head even as he leans in - and then Damien pulls him forwards and dream logic takes over. Kissing Damien feels as good as it always does, his teeth scraping Mark’s lips as he responds almost violently to the kiss, as if trying to dig himself deep in Mark. It’s a surprisingly pleasing thought.

“Wait.” Mark disentangles himself when Damien starts to pull him down on him, unable to resist a last peck on those open lips before he properly pulls himself away.

Damien’s expression immediately turns somber and angry, but before he can say anything, Mark puts a set of fingers accross his mouth.

“Calm down, I’m not… pulling out of… whatever this is. We just need to talk.”

Damien doesn’t look impressed.

“We just did.”

“No, I mean, actually talk. I mean, I basically-“ Mark swallows against the words, the knot in his throat reforming in a painful, sudden snap “forced you… We can’t not talk about it.”

“It’s not that much of an issue, Mark,” Damien sighs, as if talking to a reluctant child. “I wanted it, and you did too, it’s all fine.”

“That’s not how consent works!”

“Consent _doesn’t_ work with me, Mark!” Damien looked properly annoyed now. “I mean, I know you want to pretend everything’s _normal_ , but it isn’t! Either I want it or I don’t, and that’s it. This is the closest to consent I’m going to get!”

“You realize how fucked up that is?” Mark mutters, unwilling to let the matter go entirely.

Damien shrugs.

“I don’t really care.”

Mark sighs, defeated.

“No. I guess you wouldn’t.”

They share a long look, and in Damien’s eyes, Mark can see an incertitude, a tremble of his determination.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“So this is it, then. You go back to Sam, and I stay away except for when you meet a dreamhopper.”

“No!” Mark takes his hand, and Damien’s lip curl slightly, but he lets him do it. “Listen. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, but I don’t think things should just stay as they were. We need to find a way, to make this better, and I… I don’t want you to stay away.”

Damien looks back, his eyes wavering with uncertainty.

“No?”

“No.”


End file.
